Sonetos de Shakespeare - 1




Pro chi mai si nche mòrgiat, issa, ermosa
bi lu pedimus a criadu alentu.
S’in casu s’ora sua lomperet, rosa,
sighire potzat su brione ammentu.

Ma tue devotu a ogros tuos ebbia
ti brùsias dende briu a caddarida,
la mudas sa bundàntzia in carestia
ferende tua matessi durche vida.

Curreu demasiadu de beranu
galanu frore ses de custu mundu,
ma su brione tue l’as allupadu
ca imbèrghidu ti nch’at s’ego a fundu.

Su chi no est tuo, ca ses de piedu acassu,
non nche l’ingurtas, mira, cun trapassu.

***

From fairest creatures we desire increase, 
That thereby beauty's rose might never die, 
But as the riper should by time decease, 
His tender heir might bear his memory: 

But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, 
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, 
Making a famine where abundance lies, 
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. 

Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament 
And only herald to the gaudy spring, 
Within thine own bud buriest thy content 
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding. 

Pity the world, or else this glutton be, 
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

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